


Seven Flowers

by Merytsetesh



Category: Road to El Dorado (2000)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Consensual Sex, Drug Use, M/M, Psychotropic Drugs, References to Aztec Religion & Lore, Ritual Sex, research done on wikipedia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 05:36:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2138967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merytsetesh/pseuds/Merytsetesh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miguel is invited to take part in a ritual in honor of the god of flowers, dance, and gay sex—wait, what?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> I'm into cultural anthropology, so I was dying to see a RtED fic that included more aspects of Central American culture. This fic is the result of that wish and some half-assed research. I am not a medical professional, trained shaman, or person of Aztec decent, nor do I speak Nahuatl, so please forgive/point out any mistakes/misconceptions. Thank you!

“It goes _where?_ ”

Miguel gaped at the priest, eyes darting back and forth between the illustrations in the book he held and the temple sanctum's exit. The distance looked miles long, especially with Xochimaca blocking the way.

Early that morning the priest had appeared on their steps and invited Miguel visit one of the smaller temples dedicated to his patron deity. Miguel nearly knocked him down the stairs in his haste to leave before Tulio woke up, hoping to escape his paranoia so he could to explore the beautiful city. Luckily Xochimaca provided the perfect excuse, and once Miguel ascertained that the priest was not bringing him to another blood sacrifice, the two were on their way to the temple of Xochipilli.

Although Miguel and Tulio's temple was by far the grandest, as befitted their status as the sun and rain gods respectively, El Dorado was home to many temples, all dedicated to different deities and their families. After the “tribute to Xibalba” fiasco, Chel had tried to explain El Dorado's complex religious system, including the major gods, their roles, and other incredibly vital (and in Tulio's opinion, incredibly boring) information they would need to maintain the scam. As tedious as Tulio found the lesson, Miguel had loved it, doing his best to remember the foreign names and even pronounce them. Chel had snickered wildly at his first few attempts, but after some careful coaching Miguel was no longer mangling the names quite so badly.

Xochipilli, however, was one Miguel only vaguely remembered. He was pretty sure Xochipilli had something to do with flowers, but most of the details were lost in favor of more impressive gods of lightening and death. As they approached Xochipilli's temple Miguel had tried to gather clues from the murals and statues decorating the exterior, but the art was so stylized it was hard to tell what they were supposed to depict. He'd simply have to play it by ear and hope he didn't dig himself into a hole without Tulio there to pull him out.

Luckily, Xochimaca didn't seem to expect much from him. Xochipilli was his patron god, and he was eager to give Miguel a tour of his temple. He seemed happy to ramble indefinitely and Miguel only had to smile and nod every so often as if he understood what the priest was talking about. Which was a mixed blessing, because Miguel was so distracted by the gilded statues, colorful tapestries, and elaborate murals that he barely heard a word Xochimaca said. Perhaps if he'd been paying better attention he wouldn't have been so quick to nod his head when Xochimaca had asked him a question.

Which was how he was in this mess, looking at the illustrated instructions of the ritual he'd unknowingly agreed too, of which the primary objective was to shove seven magic flowers up his butt.

Anxiously he glanced at the door. Even if he made it past Xochimaca, they were all the way in the inner sanctum of the temple, and Miguel wasn't entirely sure he remembered the way out. Not that he honestly expected to get past Xochimaca. Short and stocky, the man was built like a mountain. He looked more like a sandstone statue than a flesh and blood man. His biceps were bigger (and hairier) than Miguel's head, which was the main reason he hadn't already tried to run. He had no doubt that Xochimaca could chase him down like an errant child and carry him over his shoulder like a burlap sack all the way back to the temple, and Miguel's dignity wouldn't allow himself to be seen like that in front of his adoring public.

Dignity, Miguel though, being one of the issues at hand here.

“Can't I just...drink it? Like in a tea? Or smoke it?” At the festival celebrating the gods arrival in Eldorado, Miguel had been introduced to a wonderfully spicy drink called xocolātl and the practice of smoking yyetl. The New World had far more to offer than gold.

Xochimaca shook his head, the beads in his braided hair jingling musically. “The medicine would make you nauseous if taken that way. You would vomit before it had time to take effect.”

Miguel felt queasy already. “And what effect would that be?”

“...Well, I'm not entirely sure,” Xochimaca admitted.

“Wait, what? Are you joking?”

“I would never joke about such a serious matter, my Lord. The Seven Flowers are usually taken by mortals who wish to be closer to the gods, to hear their wisdom, and communicate with spirits. It brings ecstasy to the supplicant, an altered consciousness in which they can feel the life in everything and hear the rhythms in the stars. Sometimes their spirit leaves the body behind and travels great distances, bringing messages from far away. Other times they become wild animals and awaken from the trance with the knowledge of their animal guide.” Xochimaca rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But I am not sure of the effects it would have on a god. Tzekal-Kan said it would enhance your great powers.”

Miguel had brightened slightly at the description on what sounded like the best high on the planet. He and Tulio had once smoked some opium, but if Xochimaca was to be believed then this Seven Flowers might leave that experience in the dust. For a brief moment he wished Tulio was here with him and not back in their temple, but quickly changed his mind when he realized exactly what his partner would witness.

“So I just...” Miguel gave a somewhat obscene hand gesture.

“Oh no! Before the Seven Flowers is administered, you must be purified with a bath, anointed with the proper oils, then garbed in the ritual adornments.”

So he had some time to stall. Maybe that volcano would act up again and he could blame it on Tulio? And that only he could sooth the wrath of the angry god? It was a nice thought, but unlikely. He needed a plan. He needed Tulio, who most likely still asleep and had no idea that Miguel was deep inside the temple of a crazy heathen god about to get high off the local wacky weed inserted in...places.

Xochimaca was obvious to his unease. “Come, my Lord. Your bath is being prepared.”

 

* * *

 

Bath, Miguel thought, did not adequately describe what he had soaked in. Pool was a better word, because there was enough room for Miguel to swim; or there would have been, if it hadn't been full of other people doing their best to remove a layer of his skin.

Four servants, all as naked as Miguel, had scrubbed, washed, and invaded his personal space. One girl, just of the verge of womanhood, had run a rough stone over his feet that tickled him like crazy. He had been constantly trying to jerk his feet away, but for someone so small and dainty she'd had a grip like iron manacles. Whenever her little fingers touched between his toes or brushed the sole of his foot he had giggled uncontrollably. Two voluptuous women, sisters from their similar features, had run soft cloths over and under Miguel's arms, legs, and, much to his mortification, everything in between. The last servant was a slender young man who had stripped the dirt, oil, and jungle debris from Miguel's hair, leaving it soft and shiny. Then he'd meticulously scrubbed the dirt from under his nails, behind his ears, and anywhere the women may have forgotten (which wasn't much). Thinking there wasn't possibly anything left they could do, Miguel froze in terror when they pulled out short knives with shiney black blades and shaved nearly every hair from his body. They left the hair on his head and a small, mostly decorative patch above his groin. Miguel had never been so clean or felt so violated in his life.

After the bath a different set of servants appeared and manhandled him onto a towel covered bench. His pale skin still reddened from shaving, they briskly dried him off, then pulled out several jars and brushes. Expecting body paint, Miguel was surprised when instead they began brushing sweet smelling oil that glittered with gold dust over every inch of his skin. Every. Inch. Then, as if to compound the awkwardness, they insisted on rubbing it in. By then Miguel had realized the futility of trying to squirm away, and his compliance was rewarded with the best massage in the history of massages. Muscles he didn't know he had were painstakingly rubbed and stretched until his whole body felt like a pile of goo. He didn't even flinch when one of them rubbed the muscles in his ass, only groaned in pleasure when he felt the knots there unwinding. Who knew a butt could have so much tension? Must be from climbing all those stairs, he thought.

When they flipped him onto this front Miguel realized with some embarrassment that his enjoyment was very obvious. He tried to cover himself, but the woman who had been massaging his left side gave him a reassuring grin (and an appreciative look) and continued as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Which, if they always gave massages that good, probably hadn't.

Limp (except for one part of him) and weak from the massage, he could barely summon the energy to follow them down the short hall back to the inner sanctum. He flopped gracelessly onto the waist high stone altar, the chill of the rock muted by a bedding of woven cloths laid over it. Though naked, the large braziers flanking the slab kept the room comfortable. Between the warmth and sweet smelling incense burning on the coals, his head felt fuzzy, like he was tipsy on wine. Not enough to confuse him, but enough to leave him feeling very relaxed and oddly okay with all the liberties the attendants had just taken with his person.

When the masseuses were replaced by two men laden with boxes of jewelry, he didn't bat an eye when they began sliding gold bands over his fingers, wrists, biceps, ankles, and toes. Earrings with a labyrinth design were clipped onto his ears, a collar of green jade, blue turquoise, and red jasper was draped over his shoulders, and a gold chain with matching stone beads was tied around his waist. The weight of the largest three stones made it hang low in the front, just barely above his pubic hair. Then, before he could protest, another gold ring was slid around his half hard penis and under his scrotum, pulling his balls away from his body. Looking down at his lap in shock, he began to wonder just what kind of god Xochipilli was that his priests kept golden rings for down there laying around his temple. He slapped the men's hands away, afraid of where the next gold decoration might be going, but they were done. They knelt gracefully at his feet, said something in his praise that Miguel didn't catch, and left with the now empty boxes.

Naked, moist with oil, and weighed down in enough precious metals and gems to buy ten sugar plantations, Miguel was at last alone. Before anyone else could show up to do other unspeakable things to him, he jumped off the altar and ran into the curtained off partition behind it. The room looked empty at first, until he realized the floor was dominated by a large sunken bed, much like the one in his and Tulio's temple. It looked inviting. Tired from waking up so early, the luxurious bath, the massage, and whatever the hell was in the incense, Miguel was asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

 

* * *

 

He awake to the sound of chanting. Blinking wearily, he sat up, but no one else was in the room.

“Hello?”

Seconds later Xochimaca appeared through the curtains. “The Seven Flowers has been prepared, my Lord. The ritual will begin whenever you are ready.”

Miguel gulped. He was in over his head with no way out. What would Tulio do? He cleared he throat, then spoke with his most authoritative, godly voice. “For this ritual, what will you require of me?”

“Very little, my Lord. You will lay down on the altar and receive the Seven Flowers. As a priest of Xochipilli I normally administer it, but, well,” Xochimaca laughed self depreciatingly, “that is in the case of regular humans. If you would prefer the High Priest—“

Tzekal-Kan's leering visage appeared in Miguel's mind. He blanched and shook his head rapidly. “Oh no, no! You are more than, uh, worthy enough to...administer it. To me. You'll do fine. No need to involve the High Priest.”

“You honor me, Lord Miguel. I only hope I can meet you expectations.” He pulled the curtains aside and bowed, gesturing for Miguel to move to the altar.

With a breath of relief, Miguel noted that the inner sanctum was empty except for the two of them, the chanting voices evidently coming from the next room over. He hopped up onto the altar's edge, feeling self conscious and wanting to grab one of the altar cloths for cover. Instead he folded his hands in his lap to hide his nudity, certain he was blushing furiously and hoping the orange glow of the fire would mask it. He fiddled nervously with a ring on his thumb, looking everywhere but at Xochimaca, so he jumped in surprise when the priest laid a hand on his shoulder.

“You are worried. You need not be. Though we cannot predict with certainly the affect of the Seven Flowers on a god, I'm sure it will not harm you.”

Miguel laughed nervously. “That's not really the part I'm worried about. It's just...why can't I...” There was no good way to word what he wanted to ask. “Do you have to actually put it in me? Can't I do it myself? _Alone?_ ” He looked at the priest pleadingly.

Xochimaca smiled in understanding, and the kindness in his eyes made his otherwise plain features very handsome. “In truth? You could, yes. You would still experience the medicine of the plants. But that's not really what the ritual is about. More than just a god of trance, Xochipilli is the lord of love and pleasure. Here before this altar, I am more than just his priest. I am his avatar, the vehicle of his power. In the ritual of the Seven Flowers, it is not I, Xochimaca, touching you.” He cupped Miguel's face in his hands, looking deep into the man's wide green eyes. “It is the hand of the god opening your body to his power, to his love. Do you understand, Miguel?” Xochimaca whispered. The reflection of the flickering fire turned his dark brown eyes to molten gold. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but to Miguel thought there was something otherworldly in that gaze. He shivered and nodded, and Xochimaca released him, the ghost of his touch lingering on his cheeks.

He still had not realizing the full implications of Xochimaca's words until a wet hand wrapped around his cock. He nearly jumped out of his skin, wide eyes darting down to confirm what he was feeling was real. Xochimaca was tipping one of the open jars over his naked lap, and warm golden oil poured over the both of them, running over Xochimaca's fingers and down Miguel's shaft. Their skin, one sun darkened, the other fair, glistened in the firelight. Miguel felt himself stiffen slightly at the sight, the gold cock ring no longer quite so loose. Blushing, he looked away and stared at the blue smoke drifting from the brazier instead, trying not to think about how good another man's hand felt on his cock.

Xochimaca felt the flesh thicken in his grasp and noticed Miguel's embarrassment over his body's reaction. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“I just, uh, wasn't expecting you to...do _that._ ” He gestured to his lap and Xochimaca's moving hand. The slow, firm stroke were definitely affecting him.

“This ritual is an act of divine love, Miguel. Arousal is natural. In fact, the very act of receiving the Seven Flowers inside you is one of immense pleasure.”

Miguel's eyebrows rose in disbelief. “I don't see how.” Not that what Xochimaca was doing didn't feel good. Great in fact. Fucking perfect, Miguel amended, when Xochimaca started sliding his oiled hands down his shaft one after the other. The instant one got to the base it returned to the tip to start over, and the unique sensation Xochimaca's fists created felt like one long endless thrust. Light headed from the blood rushing to his cock, Miguel fell backwards onto the altar, legs falling open instinctually to give Xochimaca more room. A low moan escaped his throat.

Xochimaca grinned, moving closer so he now stood between Miguel's yawning thighs. “Truly the other gods have been blind to your beauty if you have never been touched that way. Please allow me the honor of showing you.” He stopped stroking Miguel to hook the god's legs up over his shoulders, leaving Miguel completely exposed. Xochimaca felt his own cock harden at the sight of the small pink hole barely visible between Miguel's spread cheeks, but ignored it. This was not about his pleasure. Oil dripping from his fingertips like molten gold, he touched Miguel's entrance.

“First I will stretch you so the Seven Flowers can be more easily applied.” In his experience as a priest and a lover, Xochimaca had learned that it was helpful to give his new partners warning before every step. Knowing what was happening removed the uncertainly from the encounter, which went a long way towards keeping them calm and relaxed. 

Miguel felt the featherlight touches at his opening increase in pressure and before he could clench Xochimaca's forefinger was inside him. He winced, but the expected pain didn't come. It felt...weird. Not bad, not painful, just very strange. He recalled the dirty stories and jokes he'd heard in cheap taverns, and thought the truth of the matter had been greatly exaggerated. Still, it wasn't anywhere near the pleasure Xochimaca had promised. Miguel shifted on the altar, trying to find a comfortable position, but nothing felt right. He couldn't exactly relax with a finger up his ass.

Then Xochimaca's other hand began to wander, exploring his naked body, leaving behind shining wet tracks in the firelight. Like one would calm a frightened horse he stroked down Miguel's flanks and legs. He pinched his nipples and rubbed the soft skin behind his balls, all the while humming something in harmony with the distant chanting. The distraction worked, and Miguel finally started to relax into the soft blankets, a long sigh falling from his lips.

Then Xochimaca added another finger, and it wasn't okay anymore. There was a pinch as Miguel's anus stretched around the invasion. His face twisted in discomfort, and Xochimaca quickly moved to sooth him. He tugged Miguel's cock and soon Miguel was completely erect, his shaft flat against his belly and twitching. Xochimaca seemed pleased with his reaction, because his fingers withdrew and the next thing Miguel knew a thick paste the consistency of butter was being pushed inside him. Reflexively he tensed.

“Shhh, it is alright, my Lord,” Xochimaca murmured, still rubbing this thumb over the sensitive tip of Miguel's manhood. “Relax. The Seven Flowers is a sacred offering of pleasure and wisdom, but never before have I been able to offer it to a god in person. Let your earthly body accept it.”

Grimacing, Miguel concentrated on keeping his body lax, and before he knew it half a dose of Seven Flowers was inside him. The glob of paste was pushed as far as Xochimaca could reach until his knuckles were flush against Miguel's wet hole. Then he repeating the process with another lump, until the little jar was empty. Miguel expected that to be the end, but Xochimaca's fingers never stopped moving, rubbing the Seven Flowers in until it coated his insides. He could feel an odd tingling sensation as the drugged paste melted. Other than that he could barely tell it was there.

“Xochipilli is a god of flowers and love,” said Xochimaca, his voice rough with desire. “Together the seven sacred flowers are more than just medicine, they are his divine seed, the proof of his love.” Then Xochimaca twisted his fingers, and Miguel choked as fire shot up his spine and through his cock. He jerked on the altar, legs tightening around Xochimaca's shoulders.

“What was that?” he gasped.

Xochimaca chuckled. “Xochipilli's blessing. It is a pleasure only men may experience. Human or god, he gifted it to us so that we may love each other.”

He touched that spot again, and while his body writhed on the altar Miguel's mind was spinning as the pieces fell into place. Xichopilli was evidently the god of a very specific kind of love, one that he had wondered about but always feared. Now he was a thousand miles away from home in a fantasy city of gold, being touched by the priest of a pagan god, and his fears felt as distant as Spain.

As the powerful narcotics of the Seven Flowers took hold of Miguel, his awareness of his surroundings faded away. The temple walls melted, the chanting turned into the whistle of wind, and Xochimaca's touch became as intangible as the smoke from the incense. All the remained was the slow burn of arousal in his belly and the steady drum of his heartbeat in his ears.

He felt weightless, and he realized he was floating. Colors streaked past him like tongues of flames, only the fire transformed into feathers. He wasn't floating, he was flying. He'd sprouted wings. He cried out in sheer joy, and the sound that issued forth was birdsong.

 

* * *

 

Wrapped in the colorful cloths of the altar, Xochimaca carefully carried the delirious Lord Miguel to the bed. Not even a god could withstand the power of Xochipilli.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Back in Aztec times when religion was more exciting, Xochipilli was the god of art, beauty, dancing, flowers, and gay sex. While it was pretty common in fertility cults to have ritual sex, I have no idea if Xochipilli's priests/devotees did, but we can pretend, right?
> 
> The Seven Flowers ritual is a combination of fact, myth, and artistic license. Several Central American cultures made enemas/suppositories from plants like peyote, cannabis, and tobacco for ritual use (and some still do). The user would feel the drug's effect quicker than ingesting it, but it was also more dangerous. The “seven flowers” in the paste are the six psychosomatic plants plus a fictional seventh endemic to El Dorado sacred to Xochipilli, whose name literally means “Flower Prince.” Xochimaca's name means “Flower Giver” (literally "flower, to give"). As far as I know there is not an ancient Aztec suppository made from all six plants, probably because it would kill you. The application of the paste is also the product of my own depravity.
> 
> Originally I intended to do a second part where Tulio joins Miguel in the temple and crazy sex magic happens, but I got stuck. I decided to tidy up what I had and post it so it wasn't just another unfinished fic languishing on my laptop.


End file.
